


In the Aftermath

by Caiti (Caitriona_3)



Series: The Cahill Project [38]
Category: Beauty and the Beast (TV 2012), Grimm (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe, S.W.A.T. (2003), Supernatural, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Broken Bones, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Gen, Hospitals, Jeremy Renner Character Combinations, The Cahill Project, The Grimm Truth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-26
Updated: 2019-04-26
Packaged: 2020-02-04 10:48:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18602989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caitriona_3/pseuds/Caiti
Summary: Dean's ready to go home.





	In the Aftermath

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place on July 14, 2011 - Right after "Blood Doesn't Make a Father"
> 
> **Dean Bingo:** Broken Bone  
>  **Bad Things Bingo:** Hospital Stay

Dean woke up long before he opened his eyes. The painkillers made him feel lethargic and a little dazed. He usually hated the feeling, but this time he felt safe. It helped that he knew – without the slightest shade of doubt: someone he trusted watched over him. Granted, he didn’t know **which** someone at the moment, but the family would keep him under watch and under guard until he could protect himself. So he didn’t have to try to force himself into health or figure out some kind of story to sell the powers that be. Maybe he’d just let himself drift back to sleep?

“We know you’re awake, kid.”

“Hmm…” Caught out, he blinked his eyes open, letting his gaze wander the room in a lazy fashion. For a moment everything looked blurry – almost as if he looked through a rain-lashed window. Another slow blink and he managed to focus on the two people sitting beside him. “Wanna tell my brain that?”

“Keller’s got you on the good drugs, doesn’t he?” Brian smirked.

“Damn, I hope so.” Dean tried to return the expression, but given their amusement, he probably didn’t want to know what he actually looked like. “Hate to think I’m feeling this . . .”

“Stoned?”

“Yeah, that’ll do.” He paused. “Am I stoned?”

“Can you feel your arm?” Natasha asked, one elegant eyebrow lifting.

“Which arm?” 

“Yes, _Alyoshka_ ,” she replied, her still and serious expression belying the wicked humor in her green eyes, “you’re stoned.”

“Cool.” Dean let his eyes fall closed as he tried to rearrange his memories to bring himself back to the present. Somehow he thought he’d lost a chunk of time. “Pretty sure I remember Marishka Mama being here last time I woke up.”

“She was here,” Brian assured him as Natasha smothered a laugh. “She sat in here for hours, doing her usual sickbed stuff: reading to you, singing, helping with the medical care, or just staring at you as if she could will you healthy.” Dean opened his eyes again to find his uncle and mentor slouched back with a wide grin. “Will finally had to drag her out of here so she’d get some rest.”

“My sister threatened her partner.” 

Hazel green eyes, wide with surprise, flew over to lock on dancing emerald green. “Marishka Mama **threatened** Will?”

“Indeed.” Her lips twitched as he continued to stare at her. “Marina may adore Will with all her heart,” she explained, “but he was pulling her away from one of her children. Possibly the most dangerous thing anyone could do with her.” She let the smile come, the slow blossoming of it a beautiful, if deadly picture. “Now as to whether or not she would – or could – ever carry out such a threat? A different thing entirely.”

“Wow.”

“Kinda think Will’s threatening to draft Dad and Bucky next time.”

Forcing his brain to work seemed to be pushing away some of the lethargy. He remembered why he got here, even if he didn’t know quite how. Somewhere on the trip home from the cabin, he’d been allowed to drift off. Since he could see out of both eyes now – even if the right one still had limited range – a couple of days must have passed since then. Snippets of memories floated through his mind: Will’s voice reassuring him; a soft lullaby sung by Marina; the sounds of his brothers and sisters . . . 

That thought snapped his attention back to Brian. “Sam and Sadie – they get off to Toronto?”

“How drugged are you?” Brian rolled his eyes. “If you didn’t look all bruised to hell, I might have to smack your head.”

“What?” Dean demanded. “Sam’s got work!”

“Sam’s also a big brother,” his mentor shot back. “Where the hell were you forty-eight hours after we got Samonik back?”

He grimaced. “Trying to find a semi-polite way to tell my CO to kiss my ass.”

“Exactly.” Satisfaction lit mahogany brown eyes. “Sam’s no different – except his bosses are a little more understanding.”

“His bosses don’t want my sister calling them,” Natasha corrected. “Or having Will show up at their headquarters.” She crossed her legs. “It means headaches, heartaches, sore egos, and much too much paperwork.”

“That, too.”

Another thought occurred to Dean and he started to sit up. Brian put a hand on his shoulder; he didn’t even push, just held steady. The small amount of pressure left Dean unable to move. He made a face, but relaxed back. “Brian,” he began.

“No.” Brian gave him a narrow-eyed stare. “Vincent will be here soon to check you out. If he clears it, we’ll take you home to finish your recuperation, but you’ve got welts and bruises decorating your gut. No reason to overdo it.” Natasha choked back a laugh and he turned his glare on her. “What? The kid shouldn’t be moving.”

“Perhaps not,” she shrugged. “But I do find it amusing that you managed to find a protégé so very like yourself.” She turned her gaze on Dean. “What were you about to ask?”

“Huh?” He frowned in bewilderment for a moment. Then his brain caught up. “Oh, yeah – what happened to my car?”

“The Impala’s in better shape than you are.” Now sure that Dean would stay put, Brian sat back. “Doesn’t look like those two wanted the car, just you. So they used it to haul you to the cabin and parked it out back. From what I can tell, they never even searched it.”

“ _Raspizdyay Kolhoznii_.” 

Both men looked over to Natasha at her dismissive tone. “Tell us what you really think,” Brian chuckled.

“What’d she say?”

“Stupid redneck.”

“Can Russians be rednecks?” Dean frowned. “Was he Russian? She was.”

“We’re still tracking down information on them,” Natasha replied, a faint frown furrowing her brows. “What you told us gave us a direction, but it’s proving . . . difficult to follow up without giving away secrets of our own.”

“From what she said, they’re Red Room?”

“She was.”

“And who’s the . . . _predatel'nitsa_?” When she gave him a pained look, he could only smile in apology. “Yeah, I know – I mangled it.”

“There are three of us who might be the _predatel'nitsa_.” Her emphasis on the word drew chuckles from both men even as Dean narrowed his eyes on her. “Every source of intel we can find indicates they still think Marina is dead. _Soldat_ may not have the title, but like Clint, he doesn’t miss – ever.”

“Us?” Dean wanted to bring the conversation back to the important part.

“It means ‘traitoress’.”

“Oh.” He blinked, taking in the concept behind the word. “So if they think Marishka Mama’s out of reach…?”

“Then they’re looking for me or one of my other sisters.”

“And they’re not getting their hands on any of you.” 

Something dark and dangerous moved through Brian’s eyes. It didn’t take a hunter’s instinct to figure out what thoughts ran through the man’s head – he believed the enemy had set their sights on his woman . . . and intended to do whatever he had to do to keep her safe. Not that Brian wouldn’t put just as much effort into protecting Vika or Nika, but Natasha would be his priority.

The door opened and Vincent walked in, a tablet in hand and a ready smile on his face. “So,” he grinned as all of them straightened, “you want the good news or the not-so-good news?”

“Don’t you mean bad news?” Dean huffed.

“I could put it that way, but considering it’s nowhere near as bad as it could have been, I figured ‘not-so-good’ fit better.” The doctor stepped up beside the bed, leaning his hip on the side. “And believe me – it could have been a lot worse. If your arm took the full brunt of that blow instead of a glancing one, it would have been.”

“How’d you know it was glancing?”

“First off, from the marks and the bruises,” Vincent replied. “Secondly – you told me. And the fact that you don’t remember would worry me more, except you were drugged to the gills at the time, so I’ll let it slide.”

“Cool.” Dean watched as Vincent put the tablet to the side and reached for the sheet. “What about my news?”

“I need to get a look at your bruising first,” he explained. He pulled back the sheet, eyes and fingers probing tender areas on his chest and stomach. “Marina really wants you to come home and I’m willing to bet you want out.”

“No offense, Doc, but hell yeah.” Dean hissed as Vincent reached his side, just beneath his ribs. “Ouch.”

“None taken.” After a few more moments of poking and prodding, the doctor stepped back and nodded. “Okay, so the not-so-good news – you’re going to be on the sidelines for nine to ten weeks.”

“I’ve got school – and ROTC – starting back up in eight!”

Raising a hand to stop the protest, Vincent shook his head. “Your welts and bruises will be gone by then, but that arm won’t be ready for full duty.” He tapped his finger on the tablet. “I’ll issue you a medical notice, but I don’t want you taking off the splint without medical authorization for the first six weeks – and after that, it’ll be limited.”

“But it didn’t seem that bad,” he argued. “Just a heavy bruise or something!”

“Hairline fracture of the ulna, actually,” Vincent replied. “And that’s actually the good news.”

“ **Good** news?”

A gentle hand settled on his forehead and he blinked over at Natasha. She lifted a brow at him. “Let him finish,” she recommended. “Get all of the information before reacting.” He blinked and nodded at her before turning back to Vincent.

“It’s a simple, not a major break,” the doctor explained. “You didn’t need surgery and, if you’ll follow directives, a simple splint should be all you need.”

“Well . . . shit.”

“Now, do you want the best news?”

Dean’s eyebrows rose. “Sure, hit me.”

“Brian and Natasha can take you home.”

“Hot damn!” He started to push himself up only to stop when Natasha cleared her throat. “Oh, come on, Tasha,” he half-whined. “Doc says I can go!”

“He has orders for you,” the redhead reminded him. “You will listen, as will we, and you **will** follow them.” He eyed her, a little surprised at the understated vehemence in her voice. “If I hear from my sister you did not, we will have a long and uncomfortable conversation. Your parents are worried sick about you.”

“Pot, meet kettle,” Brian muttered, earning himself an elbow in the side. 

Feeling a flush crawling up his neck at the affection implicit in both their words, Dean took refuge in humor. He lifted his good right hand to his forehead. “Ma’am, yes, ma’am.” 

The snarky salute he tossed her earned him a flick across the nose. “Don’t be cheeky, _Alyoshka_.”

“Who, me?”

Laughter met his comment and he relaxed as the emotional level of the room moved back to something more in his comfort zone. Following orders, he listened as Vincent lined out the rules and regs for his downtime. He already knew he would hate every minute of the restriction, but . . . what the hell. At least he’d be with his family. 

“Is he sprung yet, or what?”

All eyes turned towards the door at the unexpected question. Dacia stood there, blonde hair loose and tumbling around her face as cobalt blue eyes scanned the occupants. She walked in, closing the door behind her and leaning back against it.

“What are you doing here, wolf girl?” Dean lifted his eyebrows. “You hate Medical.”

“And yet I see way too much of it,” she agreed, crossing her arms over her chest.

Vincent sighed. “Medical is not a prison.”

“Just because this place has a really big plus in **you** , it doesn’t mean it’s not a trap.”

“Still hoping for an answer here,” Dean chuckled. “You spending the day with Vincent, or what?”

“There’s a little of that.” Dacia pursed her lips, glancing at her guardian. When he nodded, she rolled her shoulders in a nonchalant little shrug. “I’m mostly here to be your roving patrol.”

“Say what now?”

“Somebody snatched you and turned you black and blue,” she pointed out. “And nobody’s buying that they just happened to guess what road you were going to take coming home . . . or that there were multiple traps. So that means somebody was watching you somehow.”

Like he needed more of a reason to be pissed off?

“I was followed?”

“Hold your temper.” He shot an incredulous look at Brian, who shook his head with a small grin. “Yeah, I know, look who’s talking, right? But that doesn’t stop it from being truth.”

“Someone followed me,” Dean retorted. “I didn’t have a damn clue!”

“Passive surveillance,” Natasha put in. “It’s a simple, but highly effective tool. They don’t actively watch you themselves. Rather they cultivate a network of people who report in interesting or requested information.”

“Doesn’t make me any happier about it.” They remained silent, letting him brood for a minute. Finally, when Dacia shifted in place, he blew out his breath in a quick, rough sound. “Okay, so fine, someone called in and told them which way I turned. I’m not thrilled, but I get it.” He met Dacia’s gaze. “Still doesn’t explain why they’ve got a teenager watching over me.”

“That’s not really the thing,” she protested. “It’s just _Dyadya_ and _Tetya_ being overprotective.”

“Because they could be anything but?” Brian snorted.

“She’s a familiar face here,” Vincent added in a soft tone. He reached out to tug on a lock of blonde hair. “People are used to her prowling around in my footsteps, so no one looks twice.”

Dacia nodded. “Yeah, so they just wanted me and my nose here to watch for the weird.”

“Or to see if anyone paid any extra attention,” Brian added. “They all know her, but more to the point – she knows them.”

“Rabbits,” Dacia muttered. “Bunch of rabbits.”

“There’s nothing wrong with rabbits,” Vincent chuckled. 

“Yeah,” she drawled out. “If you’re planning on them for dinner.”

“Thanks for that image, wolf-girl.” Dean rolled his eyes, a hint of his humor coming back. “And Miranda wouldn’t be happy to be compared to a rabbit.”

“Oh, not her,” Dacia shook her head. “She’s cool.”

“You know what?” he decided, switching the topic with a sudden wave of his hand. “I’ll worry about all this later. Right now I just want to go home.” Moving slow and with caution, he sat up. The movement shifted the sheets. He glanced down, grimacing at the pattern of welts and bruises on his torso. “Where are my clothes?”

“Pretty sure we’ve got some scrubs around here you can use.” Mischief glittered in Vincent’s dark gaze as Dean glared at him. “Any particular color you want?”

“No.” The hunter pointed at his doctor. “No scrubs – I’ve got a rep to protect.”

“Because that’s the part you think you’ve got to worry about?” Dacia snickered. “He could make you ride out in a chair, you know.”

“No, no, and hell no.” Dean started looking around the room, ignoring the laughter and smirks being sent his way by the others. “I’m getting dressed and walking out of this place.” His lips firmed in determination. “Maybe nobody’s watching me anymore, but if they are? I’ll be damned if they see so much as one crack of weakness.”

“Good.” Brian clapped his hands once before rising to his feet. “Come on, kid. We brought a change of clothes for you – it’s in the bathroom. Let’s get you dressed and home before Marina decides we’re moving too slow and shows up to get you herself.”

“Perfect.” As Dean let Brian help him to the bathroom, he managed to set off another round of laughter when he gave a hopeful smile. “Do you think there’ll be pie?”

**Author's Note:**

> Translations are mostly given in the fic, but for the one word that isn't:
> 
> _Alyoshka_ \- one who saves people


End file.
